The Pool House
by Indecisively Yours
Summary: Her mom should have known that hiring Puck to clean their pool wouldn't be the best idea—especially with their history.


It was her mom's stupid idea to hire Puck to clean the pool. Granted, he's the cheapest labor around, but with their history, it's still not the smartest idea.

Apparently her mom completely overlooks that because she's out of the house and leaving a blank check for Quinn to pay once Puck's done.

The sun's out so she takes it as a great day to tan by the pool. She normally didn't wear bikinis anymore, but it's Puck and it's nothing he hasn't seen.

Her time outside becomes less of a tanning session and more of a "Let's watch Puck's ass and abs while he walks around getting ready to clean the pool."

She thought she was over that. Apparently not.

"Mind if I have some water before I start?" he asks.

She nods. He knows where everything is as far as the kitchen and the fridge goes. He also knows where her bedroom is, too.

But she doesn't expect him to walk over to her and grab her water bottle, downing more than half of it with two gulps.

He shoots her a wink before he's walking back to the pool. Before she knows it, he's pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside. His muscles are definitely more defined than she thought under that shirt. It has her biting her lip as she follows him around with her eyes.

"Oh!" she exclaims, getting up. "You might need something in here. For the pool."

She gets up and heads for the pool house, hearing him follow close behind.

"What...?" he begins to ask once the door is closed.

She doesn't let him finish his question. She's pinning him onto the wall then, lips on his as her tongue thrusts into his mouth and finds his.

Anyone else in this situation would be surprised. They'd pull away and wonder what the fuck happened to her. But not him. He goes wild for this side of her.

His hands are roaming her body as he's pinned to the wall, groping her ass and giving it a squeeze before he pulls her closer.

His lips pull away from hers and trail down to her neck. Soon enough, he's switching their positions, pressing her chest against the wall as he begins to undo the knot on her bikini top with his teeth.

"You've been a bad girl, Fabray," he whispers in her ear, hand trailing down her bikini bottom to rub against her clit. She's already starting to get wet before him.

The simple jerk back of her pelvis has her rubbing her ass against him. He lets out a small groan in response. Damn it.

She rolls her hips forward just as she reaches for his free hand and places it on her breast. He squeezes his hand, pinching her nipple between his fingers before the fingers inside of her panties begin to move against her.

The table near them catches his sight. He just wants to bend her over there and fuck her senseless. Or at least until she's screaming his name.

He teases her with a finger, slowly tracing her entrance until he gets a moan out of her.

"Do it," she urges him.

She turns around then, pushing him down onto that same table he had thoughts about. Her hands briefly fumble with the button of his jeans, but once that's off she's unzipping him and sliding them down a bit. Commando. She should have known.

Her hand lightly grips him then and begins stroking him, slowly just to get him going.

"The pool house, really? Dirty, babe."

"Shut up, Puckerman. I'm still making you clean my pool after this."

He stops her hand then, bending her over that same table. He pushes her panties aside (because let's face it, there wasn't much time for the full on nudity they normally worked with) and lined himself up with her opening.

He thrusts into her with a groan, feeling just how tight she is around him. Once she's comfortable around him, now adjusted, he begins a rhythmic pace, meeting her thrust for thrust.

But then their positions are being flipped again. He's lying back on the table as she seems to expertly continue to meet his thrusts. He sits up a bit, watching as their bodies move and her breasts follow their rhythm.

Her hand grabs onto his mohawk and gives it a firm tug back; he thanks her years of cheerleading and gymnastics for her flexibility because she's found a way to lock lips again without disrupting their pace.

"Fuck," he mumbles as she pulls away from him.

His hand holds on to her thigh as she begins to rub her clit. Soon enough that hand on his mohawk is there for more than just another make-out session.

"Let go," he whispers in her ear.

"You first," she tells him.

He's got a smirk on his face. Reaching over, he moves her hand away and begins to rub her himself. He's a bit faster than she is; a bit rougher than she is.

"Fu—" she begins to say, but it turns into a screaming of his name soon after.

He continues to thrust into her as she comes, but soon enough he's coming, too, and can't hold it.

He's a bit quieter than she is, but his teeth leave a mark on her shoulder due to it all.

They're a breathless, sweaty, panting mess after. He's fallen back onto the table, hand still on her thigh as the other arm's thrown over his face.

"Hey," he pants.

"What?" she asks.

"Wanna go out Friday night?"

"In your dreams, Puckerman."

But he's still inside of her. That's gotta count towards something, right?

* * *

_Feedback, as always, is greatly encouraged and appreciated._


End file.
